Hideaway
by nothing-chan
Summary: "Please don't cry," Arthur muttered into his teeth, tasting like an overly strong cup of tea. Vishnal's heart began to pound, railing so hard against his ribcage the tight strings sewing him together began to unwind. Arthur's next words kept him afloat, stitched together and able to stand for much longer, "For right now, I'm Frey."


_Hideaway - Karen O_

* * *

Vishnal felt coarser than the sheets that blanketed him.

"And do you know what Arthur said to me the other day?" Frey's hands weaved in and out of the ocean of teal that flowed from her shoulders, hair braiding strip by strip into an intricate puzzle that trailed down her back and piled on the top of Vishnal's bed where she sat. "That he's glad he's a prince, just because he got to come to Selphia and meet me. How embarrassing!"

How embarrassing, how embarrassing, the pink on her cheeks made Vishnal realize just how embarrassing it was for her, to be in love, and to have that love returned. She pulled her legs into her chest and sighed into the fine taffeta, humming through the gap between her bony knees, fingers drumming willow tree rhythms against her skirt. The pajamas slipped past her tightly wound shoulders and opened the expanse of faintly tanned skin to the boy still trapped beneath stratospheres of comforters, warm and plastered with sweat against his mattress.

Frey visited him often, at the apex of a stifling summer night, when Clorica snored silently and Volkanon rested without a sound. She would curl in on herself and laugh, giggle above the monsters baying at the moon, happiness leaking out onto Vishnal's obscene sheets and dying them her vibrant green. They would joke, typhoon's fury raging outside, while they remained safe inside the cocoon of gossip and slightly sticky dream residue. They had become friends closer than the muscle clinging to their bones, wound tightly against each other with whispered secrets and accepting grins.

"You're lucky to have a lover, Princess." Vishnal adjusted his legs, watching as the bed shook her with his movements. "I wish I had someone like that."

"Oh, don't give me that Vishnal!" Frey turned toward him, hair loosening and tugging itself out of its half-hearted cage. "Come Valentine's Day, I'm sure you'll be covered in cookies from every girl in town!"

Vishnal's reply was drown out by a squeaking yawn, Frey's jaw stretched wide to let out the warning sound. He twitched under the sheets.

"I'll see you tomorrow, sleep well!"

Her age-old smile disappeared like nothing, the room fading into an obsolete blackness, gaining a new translation without her brightness to keep it alive.

Vishnal rolled onto his side, feet brushing past the warm sport where Frey had once sat. He brought a large chunk of his bottom lip into his mouth and bit onto it, running his hands through the seam of his bottoms, brushing past the bulge that had rose each time the luminous Princess's breath had matched his own.

He did not want every girl in town.

* * *

Frey's room always seemed fresh, even on a cloudy day, her bed pulled tight into place and the floors now austere and clear of dirt. Vishnal was close to finishing, brushing the small crumbs scattered about into his palm and disposing them in the trash. Frey never left much of a mess, she thought for everyone, and despite it being a butler's duty, she made sure her living space was manageable and orderly, so none of the serving attendants had to do much.

He was about to collect a stray piece of charred toast that had slithered to the floor when the door opened, the sounds of the sizzling town square echoing into the hollow room.

"Ah, hello Vishnal." Arthur's voice was pleasant, fitting for an ebbing summer day, simple and luxurious and lustrous with his golden sun hair. He carried a basket with him and the scent of Porcoline's restaurant, something welcoming and deep that reminded Vishnal of ebony wood and festivals in the evening.

"Hello Arthur." The butler smiled, finishing up the task he had started before continuing the conversation. "The princess is out now, I'm afraid."

"I know, she's getting rid of some monsters that have been troubling a few of my customers attempting to get into town. I thought I would prepare her lunch as a thank you." Arthur held up the basket, fresh ingredients rattling inside, and Vishnal kept the clinging smile cemented to his face.

"I see, that's awfully kind of you."

Arthur did not know his way around Frey's kitchen like Vishnal did, so the sky blue boy stayed to hand him knives, watching as he severed a slice of bread in half mercilessly, slathering it in slices of fruit.

"Vishnal, do you mind if I ask you something?"

He reached over to stir the soup beginning to roar on the stovetop, unfazed even as a bubble of steam popped on his peerless skin.

"Of course."

"Are you and Frey close?"

Vishnal watched him focus on the art of cooking, pensive behind his thick glasses, taking his time in rotating the boiling soup.

"W-Well, I'm her butler, so we have to be somewhat friendly."

"I don't mean like that," Arthur reworded himself. "Are you two friends?"

The antsy boy took a knife from its placeholder and polished it unnecessarily; face reflecting back at him in grotesque tones. Frey was his closest friend.

"I suppose she trusts me."

"I see…"

Xiao Pai tripped outside, Forte's voice loud above the squabble of birds as she rushed to her assistance. Arthur chortled under his thin lips and set the heat to low, deciding to face Vishnal, even if the other would not court him.

"Does she ever speak of me?"

Vishnal polished quicker, the edge of the blade gnawing against the soft cloth and beginning to brush into his fingers, face a blur of repugnant, scattered blue.

"You're all she speaks of anymore."

The polishing stopped, and so did Vishnal's smiling, for once in his life he paused.

The knife wedged between his grip was slowly pried out, met instead by a hand that was too dead to belong to a prince. But it did, the fingertips rounded and padded from years of typing, curling against his wrist and revolving him until he met the dry eyes of a man named Arthur.

"Vishnal, I know you love her."

No, he did not know. He would never know the feeling Vishnal had drown in the second the girl tumbled from the sky, landing long-limbed and fawn-eyed atop a dangerous creature, who she somehow managed to curdle and twist into her own friend. The way she worked, back-breaking and lonely in a field of wilting turnips, through the winter, was something surely only Vishnal knew. How her hair just tailed the ground when she stood, how grapes made her smile, how could Arthur know this? Frey was special to him; she was his master, why didn't this mean anything?

Why didn't this mean anything to Frey, why did she sleep alone, and not with him, why did she slip a bow in her hair when inviting Arthur to the Forest? Why was Vishnal crying?

But maybe Arthur did know, maybe when he had caught sight of his stand-in princess, he felt the way Vishnal had all along, but had just been auspicious enough to have these mountainous feelings returned.

Arthur coddled him like a mother, and the tears lasted momentarily, until his lips became moister than his cheeks, wrists still trapped in the hold of dry finger ropes.

"Please don't cry," Arthur muttered into his teeth, tasting like an overly strong cup of tea. Vishnal's heart began to pound, railing so hard against his ribcage the tight strings sewing him together began to unwind.

Arthur's next words kept him afloat, stitched together and able to stand for much longer, "For right now, I'm Frey."

* * *

Being in Frey's room had always excited Vishnal, like a static current keeping him hopped up and wriggling. She was a grown woman; she most likely experimented, on her bed, by herself, cheeks more cardinal than he had ever seen. The hands on his thighs made him jolt, and he could have sworn he caught wind of her moaning.

"T-This isn't-" Arthur's lips pursed, inches from the butler's own hard dick, taciturn as he slid his mouth down the length and pulled back up, freezing Vishnal into a twitching mess.

Arthur did not speak, he couldn't, because for right now, he was Frey, and if his voice were to resound, it would shatter the fantasy he had set up for the poor, abandoned boy. His tongue ran circles around every inch of him, and Vishnal grasped for the biting kitchen table, the cold doing nothing to clear his torrid mind.

He wanted Arthur to speak, he wanted him to say it was okay, that it would be okay, Vishnal bit against his thumb to hold back a shout.

"P-Please Arthur, I n-need-" Arthur took this as a push for more, slurping faster, sliding up and down and up and down until Vishnal felt nothing but a heat as vibrant as a million suns scorching his skin.

This wasn't what he had meant, he did not want to cum, he wanted Arthur to stop and say something, "S-Stop Arthur, I-" his knees began to shake "-S-stop stop stop st-top…"

'Frey' moved quicker than ever before, and Vishnal's legs gave out, crumbling forward as he held 'her' head against him, crying out in a guttural call that sputtered out like the liquid leaking out of him. 'She' tugged and tugged and tugged until every single bit of Vishnal was gone, his panting face watching 'her' blonde head pull back.

Arthur wiped his lips, glasses fogged and streaked with both men's sweat, face flushed and forlorn.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I got far too invested, did you really want me to stop?"

Vishnal looked at Arthur's knees curled in between his legs and could not catch his breath, feeling more unwanted and hollow than he had before.

* * *

_aaaaAAAAAAAAAH DO NOT MAKE ME PICK BETWEEN THESE TWO I AM HAVING AN INTERNAL DILEMMA. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PICK BETWEEN CUTIE PRINCE AND BISHIE BUTLER? easy I make them suck each other off oooooooh._

_Yeah inspired by Hideaway by Karen O eeeeeuuurttghh bye I'm going to go cry and make Vishnal my wife._

_Thank you for reading!_


End file.
